


What It Means To Live

by Vespairty



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Awkward Crush, M/M, PTSD, Social norms what are those?, awkward everything, hard decisions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 14:43:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13526451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vespairty/pseuds/Vespairty
Summary: After a long and bloody decade, Grindelwald had been felled. The magical world rejoices as Lord Peverell frees Germany and the continent from his clutches. Having done their duty the rebels disband. Meanwhile at Hogwarts a new transfer student, Hadrian Damocles, is sorted into his new life but living is not easy when one only knows how to survive. After so long as a soldier how can one become a civilian? Maybe Tom can tell him.As for Tom Riddle, he had never met anyone like Hadrian Damocles. He certainly never expected to genuinely like him.A tale of healing, friendship, and first love.





	What It Means To Live

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the rights to any of J.K.Rowlings works. I do however own a copy of every book she ever wrote.

_I had no doubt, I count on me. My heart is fire;  
My mind is clear; My spirit is a roaring sea._

## Chapter One: Know Thyself 

He was to be sorted. It was a sick joke with no punchline. 

If anyone were to ask when his life turned upon itself, it was when he donned his first set of school robes. There was nothing inherently wrong with them. The swathes of fabric seemed elegant, seemed functional even, but he could not console himself with what had been before. The weight had been all wrong and the mantle of them much too thin, much too soft, and much too much of it. 

In truth he felt naked and vulnerable regardless of how much cloth covered him. It was like the world around him could easily slip behind the flimsy barriers, stick a dagger through his spine or worse. Even the undergarments felt loose enough that he felt he might just slip out of them. At any moment he might disappear and never come back. 

Looking into the mirror he had felt as if he were looking upon a stranger. Never had he looked so small before, never so… casual. Three months ago he would have refused this rendition of himself entirely. He would have lifted his chin proudly and cast down the robes of ordinary men. It had been a time where the elegance of flowing fabric would have hindered him irrevocably. Afterall, it had been war and what need have he of silks when he had to survive. 

That was before the world’s greatest calamity had been felled. That was a time before he had been reminded that he was only sixteen and with no formal education to his name. So it was that he had stood in Twilfit and Tattings, in the shadow of another, and shed from himself his old skins. He then took on the appearance of progress, and loathed it somewhere deep within, even as he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders. Outside he had smiled but inside he had screamed. 

He was being erased, he had thought. 

His eyes looked on in that mirror of that place, but they could not recognize the wavy black hair so tightly pulled back, or the innocent face that had stared so damningly back at him. It wasn’t that he looked any different rather, he looked as he always had. 

He had the same lips pulled ever tight in anxiety, and the same nose that curved up slightly in a button and that wrinkled when he thought hard on something, and the same elegant high cheeks that his mother had possessed. For all that he looked exactly the same he was just a shade of something not wholly himself, and he placed the starting blame with the clothing. As if that could absolve him of his sins. 

He tugged at the sleeves, fidgeted every so often, shivered when the soft material brushed his ankles. It was as if he was placed in a mold not made for him, a role he was not meant to play. Even days and weeks later the clothing felt alien on him and he felt too open for his own good. Noises that never bothered him before, awoke in him a hair trigger response late into the nights. The world around him seemed so much bigger and more sinister than ever before, and it was all because of that one change. 

For once, he looked upon himself and hated what he saw. The timidity and paranoia had become so prevalent in the bags under his eyes. This was not him, this thing in the robes of fine black could not be him. Yet it was him, a weaker him. Everytime he passed his reflection he was reminded of it. Reminded of what he had done and what he had left behind. His future was an expanse of faceless masses that he would have to adapt to, and he feared and loved in equal measures what that meant for the upcoming years. 

It started to sink in by the second month that this was truly happening to him, that the life he had been forced to leave behind long ago was before him now. To think, a normal schooling, a normal set of rules to follow. A life with no unreasonable responsibilities because those were for adults. 

Standing before the great hall of Hogwarts should be all he had ever wished for, had been what he had wished for in childhood. He should be ecstatic! He should want this more than anything else! Wasn’t that why he had struggled so much and so long? Should he not be grateful?! Yet he was not. All he was, was scared. Scared and uncomfortable and not at all himself. These days all he felt was nauseous. Naked. A stranger in his own skin. 

His dream of a normal life had become a waking nightmare. What did one do when they didn’t have to run? What did one say when they were so used to silence? What should he have thought?! How did one be human when they had spent their whole life away from them. Never before had he felt more alone, and never before had he minded the solitude so feverently. 

Nothing could assuage the discomfort, or the longing in his heart for the familiar weight of his old clothes. For just something that was his. He wanted to be himself again, then maybe he could stand as he needed to with his chin high and eyes bright. Go back to who he had been before he let others decide what he could and could not do, before he discovered that his old wand refused to work for him, before he had spent a consecutive three months in one place for the first time since he was five. 

He just wanted to not be lost anymore. Standing before the great hall before him he wondered if that could ever be possible. Maybe he was far too broken to be what he needed to be. What if he could not be sorted because of what he had done? What if he was too monstrous to be deemed a student? 

He was terrified.  
He was not ready. 

How could he be sorted if he did not know himself? When he had done such terrible things... yet here he stood, trembling minutely, looking anywhere but the curious faces gazing up at him or upon him.

The man, _‘Just Albus until term starts’_ , was calling names out into the vast hall. One by one the children that had been a barrier around him and the rest diminished. His turn was coming to face this challenge. He hated that when his turn came the name called was not his own but his mother’s. It only affirmed more, how far away he had become from himself. It highlighted his imbalances. It tried to make him like her, human and untainted by the tides of war. 

“Hadrian Damocles.” 

The world narrowed down to a fine point. His heart thundered in his breast, his hands were cold. 

_“Never let them see you suffer. Never let them see you cry. Never let them see that they affect you. Otherwise they will burrow deep into you and never leave. That is what people are, torments. Never inherently good, never to be trusted. You’d best remember that Hari.”_ Hindenburg had always told him that when he had been at a more tender age. It had only ever been relevant a few times but in the present he was reminded of it. The sharp memory straightened his spine, quelled his quiet tremors, and steeled his eyes. 

When he stepped forward it was with a grace that was not his own, a pride that was not his own, and an apathy that doused the twinkle in old ‘just call me Albus until term starts’’s eyes as he watched. A switch had been flipped and rigidity marked shoulders that were heavy... So heavy. He sat imperiously, the hall empty for all intents and purposes in his mind. Nothing here and none here mattered. Only that hat and himself. It was easier that way. Simpler to pretend he was alone. 

The brim of said hat sank over his forehead, stiff and scratchy. More what he had been used to before. For a brief moment he felt iron clad, comfortable, himself again. Confidence became him and certainty forged each action anew. The tenseness fell from his shoulders, he softened without and hardened within. He looked to all, to have changed drastically but none would be able to describe just what it had been. 

“A heart unseated, innocence lost to years of survival. Poor child. Many trials and tribulations have chiseled you into a great wizard of worth. I see I am dealing with someone truly extraordinary Mr. Peverell. Yet why come here at all if your journey is at an end? What is it you desire? Who are you? I see warmth in you, a gentleness not yet destroyed. Loyalty even though it frightens you. Hufflepuff could give you a home and hearth to heal the trust so sorely broken,”

A room full of people, all gentle, all smiling. Warmth in the fireplaces, laughter. The warmth of an embrace, the ease and comfort of being accepted without judgement. Love, he thought longingly. Bright sunlight streamed in on cluttered rugs, golden and cozy. So very good that his heart ached with it. A goodness he could only vaguely remember in the green eyes of his mother on summer days as she hung out sheets. A goodness found where the air had been fresh and clear and she had been the most beautiful woman in the world. The flowers gathered in her dark tresses, the smell of lavender on her clothes. 

He yearned fiercely, but as he went to touch the image he pulled back just so. His stomach lurched. Something deep in him reared back in panic and a door slammed shut. The sheets brushed against him once and disappeared leaving him mourning. The ache of his chest became a sharp pain that lanced through and dug deep. 

“I see. I fear you are not ready to open such a door. No, Hufflepuff will not do. Not to a heart so sealed and hardened by life such as yours. Poor child of magic. In time maybe and once long ago perhaps.” 

“Gryffindor then? You are brave, no one can doubt that. Regardless of fear you push forward, into unknown spaces though they bite at your heels. Not one to be conquered easily and righteous is your voice when you chose to speak. The nature of your justice is fair and swift, your consequences regarded and faced. You regret what you have done but acknowledge that it had to be. A great trait to find for those who lead. To know the costs but do right even in the face of them.”

The red of a tower room surrounded him, fire was burning high and bright in the mantles. Tall stained glass windows allowed for light to dance amid the few within. There were loud gaufs and raucous laughter that filled silent spaces. They stood with assurance, and without fear for they were justice. Strong arms curled about him and for an instant he felt safe and contained. The warmth surrounded him until one face turned the world around them to ash. 

Blue eyes, crisp and clear. Long blonde hair and a white robe. The youth that tugged at his smile. His mother begging, his mother bleeding, his mother had been a rebel. Justice had to be done. For the greater good. For the might of magic. Justice, he had said.

The worst thing about war, was that both sides felt they were heroes. They were all righteous… It wasn’t that those who allowed the slaughter of his family had been evil, it was that they felt it was a just thing to do. It was just as he had felt that it was right to seek his vengeance, warranted even. So what was the point of that. What was the use of Justice when right and wrong did not exist. What did that mean for him? Nothing anymore and so he did not reach for it.   
“Ah, alas there are hesitations. Disillusioned and harsh. You are not rash, you think. Truly think before entering the fray. To do otherwise means death and consequences. You also do not believe that the house of Lions is as unbiased as you would like. They remind you too much of him. They represent him in their fire. I do not think the house of Lions has anything more it can offer you. Any comfort it can grant you. Not now or ever.”

“Ravenclaw then? You are wise, quick of wit, clever enough to last this long. Your nemesis did not see you coming. Knowledge becomes you, you reach instinctively for the truth no matter how devastating that may be. You dig deeper and deeper but alas…”

There was a tower of books, more than he had ever seen in one place. The smell of parchments and ink, the deeper meanings to life. Figures hunched over, together but apart. There was a companionship in silence, a kinship to the art of just being and working with others in peace. He could see himself slipping in, but he could also see himself disappear. Lost to the turning pages, wishing for a gruff voice that could never be again to instruct him. Desperate for some sort of leverage, skipping over the theories and inner machinations of magic. Gruelling work, but it had to be done, damn what magical laws might imply. 

It felt wrong to learn for the sake something like that, like war, but when could he have appreciated anything else. While evading his enemies? When could he find time to appreciate it all when he had been hardwired to look for the use of something over the actual truth of something? How could he be forced to love that which to him was but a means to an end. Truth he could understand, truth was constant. The truth set him free from the sorrows of loss and innocence.

“Learning for the sake of it has never been something you had the luxury of before. It was never the forefront of your thoughts and the truths you sought only ever had been for your own survival. To see the harshness of reality. No doubt the house of learning would benefit from you greater than any but I fear the isolation would destroy you more than enrich you. Their nature would harden your heart even more, douse your spirit. No, not Ravenclaw.

“What of noble Slytherin? The cunning and ambitious dwell there. So too do souls like yours. Kin through trial and fire. Loyal are those who band together in the pursuit of greatness. Treacherous are those who cross others. You would be comfortable there as vigilance is ingrained too much into you for you to be a fool for them. The weight of expectation would not rest so heavy for all there think they are important. Some great and unique to be sure but all destined for better things. 

“Despite what is said, family means everything to them. True friends can be found here and it could be a good start to mending your weariness of the world. It could strengthen the parts of you that have been broken and healed wrongly.”

He could see it now. The picture was elegant, the lines drawn tight and sure. Intrigue rested in the small secret places and hidden dagger like smiles. Like Delvin and Cusco’s before severing charms tore at their throats. They all sat debating, sipping tea. These were alliances but so close were some shoulders that it reminded him of his lost ones. 

The people around the dark room shifted. Hindenburg sat pin straight with sharp and clever eyes, hard as ever and pretending to be displeased. Johnny lounged to his left with a smile that hid his sharpened dagger like teeth. The rebels whose faces he could not recall but had loved anyway revelled in plush chairs.

Most of all he saw in the scene the will to do whatever one could to survive in the eyes of each face. So much like himself, so much like home. This time he did not pull away, no doors slammed shut. He ran to the illusion eagerly and maybe a bit too desperately. He grasped Hindenburg to himself like a starved man. He buried himself in the scent of earth and tobacco, needing him as if he were a child again vying for his praises. 

It was only a vision, he knew, but hell if he would ever be able to ignore the chance to feel him one last time as a living being. His family, his father, his teacher. It was cold yes but it was home. The only one available to one such as he. 

“Yes I think we have it. A good house with which to begin to be worthy of Hufflepuff’s acceptance. Be careful not to grow colder in the dungeons Mr. Peverell, and remember to try and make friends. The house of cunning can heal as much as hurt. Quite fitting for one such as you.”

It was a moment later that that he fell from the dark expanse of his mind and into the actual world again. The smell of earth and tobacco faded. Around him the hall had calmed. Curiosity marked the faces of all those who decided to look on. Hat stalls happened at least once a year, but this one had lasted for much longer than usual. They waited on baited breath whenever the hat had shifted and made small ‘hmm’ing sounds. 

The crowd watched on as green eyes slowly opened to view them all. The brim of the hat tore open, 

“Better be…. Slytherin!” 

He hesitated in removing the artifact, not quite ready to be rendered so vulnerable again. In the end he grudgingly parted with it, laying it with more care than necessary on the stool he vacated. A quick survey of the hall revealed those who had been politely clapping from a long table against a far wall. He couldn’t help the small almost imperceptible grimace at how straight backed they were. How controlled they could all seem while beneath their grandiose house banner was a question well beyond him.

Much like his robes the banners had nothing inherently wrong with them. That is to say that they were fine and beautiful and he suspected, easily flammable. Image over practicality but to be fair he would have thought the same for any other house. His distaste laid only in that this was where he was supposed to belong, with strangers.

The sitting arrangement, he noted, was stilted. There were patches where an invisible divide marked some sort of hierarchy between people and ages but for the life of him he knew nothing of it. What use to him were power plays when he had always needed to trust the wands at his back. Even then why make an unnecessary enemy by creating dissention in the ranks with such petty things when in the end they were all but soldiers. 

Then again there was much he did not know of when it came to the… domesticity of wizards. His focus had always been on living till morning, moving fast enough to assure victory. It was a little laughable how something as elementary as children could render him so incredibly anxious after all he had been through. 

In his mind’s eye he saw Hindenburg, he imagined the scoff and disapproval on such a haggard face for his timidity, and he felt instantly better for it. Hindenburg would have told him to not think on trivialities and instead focus on what was truly important. That’s right, he reminded himself. Think of what was important. 

He need not worry for the attentions of babes when there was a goal to be accomplished. In the end of things he was not here for them. He did not exist for their approval nor would he care any for it. It would be nice and he would prefer it but ultimately he was here for himself. 

Because he needed to heal; Because he needed to learn how to live with peace; Because he needed to fall into the guidelines of society so that one day, when he had to face the world as his father’s son and as a murderer of dark lords, he would be prepared; Because no one person could live by surviving and he was no exception. But it was easier said than done wasn’t it. 

He approached with cool resolve and ignored in himself the sickening twist of his insides. For once he lauded the length of his sleeves for there was comfort to be had in them. They hid his shaking well enough. He pressed on choosing one of the invisible divided spaces next to a boy that he noticed had a prefect’s pin. They were supposed to be the helpful ones if he recalled rightly and chose that spot for its safety.

The boy was around his own age if not slightly older. His hair was dark as pitch much like his own and he had a kind and familiar demeanor. Beyond these initial observations he cared little of anything else. He was far too uncomfortable, too restless around so many, too nervous to really gauge the situation fairly. Or at all. 

He just decided to exist as as if he belonged there and, after an awkward silence and speech by a headmaster, it almost felt as if he did for no one said anything about it. In fact, they didn’t talk at all. The area around him was blissfully silent. 

He was certain it was not supposed to be that way. Healthy children talked far more than he did, even some of the newer members of the rebellion had been chatty enough. The silence should have been telling of some social faux pas that he could not comprehend but to him it was all the better because he was not sure what he could speak of. He doubted he would speak of anything that would be of interest to them or that they could empathize with.

A plate appeared before him and a goblet of casted copper. Nobody made to reach for their wares but he did not wait for approval from anyone to begin selecting his meal, too focused on trying to be childish enough to fit. Delvin had once told him that looking the part was more important that actually being in that part. Assurance and confidence would keep others from questioning his actions, enough at least to get a job done and get out. He figured the same things applied here. So long as he looked comfortable then they would believe him. It seemed to be working.

Instead of thinking further on it, he filled his plate with a generous amount. He avoided habitually much of what others may have coveted as such pleasures had long been lost on him. He easily passed over fats and sugars in lieu of high proteins in white meats, vegetables, and energy storing fruits. It was a rather large amount in comparison to what others had taken but he was used to eating enough to live actively and maintain a constant level for offensive spell work. 

One could not fight on empty reserves. 

It was as he ate that sound seemed to leak back into the area around him. It was as if time began to move again. The boy beside him laughed and it was a warm comforting sound. Something in him relaxed at it and he ate in peace. It wasn’t until the others were having desserts that anything changed in the spaces about him. 

There came with the shift in the air, a familiar type of feeling that prickled against his skin. It settled further over him, wrapping him up in it. It was such a natural thing to him and something that he had missed greatly since coming into magical Britain. He had been told in no uncertain terms by Albus that poking about with ones magic simply wasn’t done and yet here he was being prodded by another’s. 

The comfort of it was well needed. It was enough to bring a ghost of a smile to his face. He eagerly responded in kind and allowed his magic to seep out into the physical realm. It stretched languidly and he felt stress leave him the more he let it go. It soaked through his clothing and reached out until it found the weight of his neighbor’s own power. 

He expected it to wrap around his newfound acquaintance but the instant the two forces met his lashed out greedily. It clamped onto the invading magic enthusiastically, pulling it closer to himself until it was a mantle about his person. It brought with it a sense of normalcy and camaraderie. It reminded him of open air and pine wood crackling on a low fire. Of humming as one twiddled the strings of a weave blanket. Of rare moments of contentment in otherwise hostile lands.

The opposing magic struggled darkly, he doubted his magic had ever been so forceful with another's, but there was little competition when his own was so demanding. It was unseemly and he could feel the beginnings of his embarrassment color his cheeks tellingly. The boy beside him went rigid, his words to the rest became stilted for just an instant. 

He had never had a problem with such a thing as control before. He was usually much more contained and not at all as enthusiastic as his power was being. The thought only made it worse and he ducked his head down shyly. When he felt eyes turn upon him. He tried desperately to pull his magic back inside and readied an apology on the tip of his tongue but the instant a piece of his was forced from the other’s magic, the other’s magic snagged it back posessively. 

It was mortifying. He almost did not notice how the boy beside him shifted closer until their shoulders were touching. Their magics were near indecipherable now from one another, petting each against the other contented and intimate. He finally gave up on trying to separate them now, there would be no winning and if he were honest… He, like it and needed the comfort. It felt like being home.

A hand reached out in front of him. It was soft looking with long tempered fingers. A black ring adorned one of them. It was a dull and unimpressive thing. He took the offered hand in a grim hold hoping his heartbeat couldn’t be felt through the skin. He noticed how soft it was, how untouched by hardships. He could not say the same for his own. They were tough things and his own fingers, while tempered and elegant, held slivers of scars. Three months had done little to erase what years of work had gained. 

His green eyes turned up slowly to the black ones of the prefect and he noticed the almost nonexistent freckles that dusted the other’s high cheekbones. He was quite a handsome thing and his smile was wide and kindly. A face unmarked by the tides of battle or strife. Hadrian decided that he liked that, that there were people out in the world who had escaped the claws of Grindelwald’s fury. 

For the first time since the greatest battle of his life, he was glad he had ended the man. He was glad that his suffering prevented more from spreading to Britain. He could live with that. 

“Usually people get angry when I do that even though they won’t say it to my face. Prefect and all. Tom Riddle at your service.” His voice was smooth and welcoming. It reminded Hadrian of the rare days where did not have to watch over his shoulder for white robes. His smile started to fade the longer silence filled the space between them. Oh merlin! He was supposed to respond wasn’t he? 

“My apologies. Albus--Oh, pardon, Professor Dumbledore told me it was rude but I admit I did not understand it. Is it usual to close oneself off from such things? How do you tell a friend from a foe then? Pardon again, Hadrian Damocles.” That hand never let his go and he was fine with it because the boy next to him, Tom Riddle, smiled wider if possible and his teeth were nice things to look at. Bone white and straight, like gravestones. 

“I think it is more a case of not many being able to react to what I do. Wandless magic is not so common in Britain. Usually people make their intentions very clear on friends and enemies, though our house is a bit more subtle at the Game. I take it that is not the case where you are from?” Delvin, Hindenburg, Joseppi… He once saw a regular family while scouting out possible hideaways for refugees, they did not feel like his colleagues.

“I do not think it is common, no. Then again I do not think I am in a position to say. I was not raised with others my age and my guardians were… Not of the norm.” He doubted it was usual for children to know how to suture stitches or how to hit three targets with one cutting hex, even the older ones here at the school. 

“I can relate although I am curious, ‘guardians’?, Not parents?” Their hands hand still not separated, maybe it was customary? Maybe this was just what people did? He did not mind, Tom had such warm hands. 

“Ah. No, I am an orphan.” Tom stopped smiling. Had he done something wrong? Hadn’t Albus also reacted similarly when he learned that? Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything about it. He hadn’t like how the old man had started treating him when he knew. He was well passed an age that he was bothered by it so he didn’t get why others were. 

“My condolences, I too am an orphan. Did you get your name from your adopted parents? What orphanage were you in? You do not sound german. Have you come from Durmstrang?” 

“It is fine and mine to you I guess, I do not know you well enough to know if that bothers you. I lost mother much too long ago to grieve her anymore.” His smile returned albeit lesser than before but it was still something.

“Thank you Hadrian. What of the rest?”

“I did not attend an orphanage or any teaching establishment. My mentor thought it unwise to leave me any place for more than a week or so and he didn’t like trusting others with my development. I was never adopted by him but I did, do, still see him as a sort of father figure. This will be my first time attending any academy actually. I am nervous about it. Walls make me restless.” 

“Ah. A stranger in a strange land, no wonder you are so shy. Well if there is anything you need Hadrian, you need only ask me or any of those in your house for assistance. I am certain they would be most gracious to you. Manners maketh man and all that.” There was something about the way he said that which was strange. Like he was speaking to another then he realized that Tom had been speaking to another, others in fact. It was then that Hadrian looked around him to see the many that had pressed closer to listen in. 

“Have I been rude? I have tried to read etiquette books but I fear I am not so well mannered. Hindenburg was always so focused on other lessens. It wasn’t often I got to learn things besides what he wished and many times those other things were necessities and not… Lurk would have called them trivalties. Manners that is.” 

“I would not say rude but… Well it does not matter. We shall be more than happy to help you. did you know...”

Their conversation lasted well on through the meal. By the end of the banquet he felt much calmer. He had even met some of the other students who were friends with Tom. Aiden Avery had been delighted to hear about the northern tundra of Russia and how many beasts thought to be extinct still thrived in the small pockets of nature around it; Orion Black had promised to try and teach him proper manners for how to meet someone the first time; And Thaddeus Nott and he had gotten into a deep discussion about how useful the second year spell somnium was. 

Granted he had not known that was its name before the discussion. 

It was a long way from what he was used to. It was, different, less solemn and not nearly as urgent, but nice nonetheless to interact with the few around him. Tom never let go of his hand and that felt safe, strange, but safe. It made him bold enough to try at least to ask questions. He never took note of the pallor on Albus’ face as he watched them or the sometimes chilling looks Tom would throw to those surrounding them. He was much too busy enjoying his first ever dinner with children his own age. And Tom of course.

He still didn’t like normal robes; He still didn’t eat pudding; He still didn’t like being in one place; but maybe, just maybe he wouldn’t have to be anything other than himself. He settled into his isolated dorm room that night feeling a little lighter than he had in a long time. He dreamt of raven wings, soft linens, and golden light through wide windows. He imagined great shadows with wide, friendly smiles and a ring that looked unimportant but that called to him with a face haggard from battles. It was a nice change from the nightmares of the past.


End file.
